To Repeat History
by g8res
Summary: Jason Wilkerson's Grandfather had been in possesion of an object that had held the countries memeories. Now that they've been released how will the nations cope? Can Jason restrain the memories? How will the nations face their past? Can they?
1. Prolouge

"_It's been an honor serving you kiddo" Alfred beamed at the compliment from the elderly man vigorously shaking his hand._

"_I can also say the same for you Major" Alfred said. The old man grinned, obviously happy to have received the reply from his junior. As the two comrades meticulously examined each other, their eager cheer slowed into a melancholic reminiscence. The older man looked down, as he started solemnly recalling everything they had been through. He wasn't the only one. "Major, I'm serious." Alfred said, "You've really done so much. You've been a great soldier, a wonderful aide, and an amazing friend." Alfred seemed to hesitate before continuing, "Are you sure you can't stay?"_

_The man took a deep breath before speaking, "Al, look...there's a lot we've done together," he gave a wry smile before continuing, "But my time's up. I'm, a fifty year-old man who's struck lucky enough to be the aide to greatest...person this country will know." The man gulped, trying hard to swallow tears before starting again."I wish...I wish I could've done more, but..." The man clutched his stomach, looking down once more._

"_Major..." Alfred started "Please don't blame yourself. It was my fault anyw- "_

"_No it wasn't! Alfred, stop blaming yourself for everything! It wasn't you and you know it!" The man's lips were pursed thin as he angrily regarded Alfred. "Why would you even think like that Al?" _

_Alfred sighed sadly, his blue eyes drooping as a slight smirk perched on his face. He turned away, looking towards the window. "Those memories..." The man's eyes went wide as he realized what Alfred was talking about. The object. _

_The object that had been entrusted with the aide of the most powerful. It was centuries- no __**millenniums**_ _old. It was a scientific phenomenon held under the secretive grip of the CIA. It held memories, deep dark memories that wouldn't, that __**couldn't**__, fade from time. It was in his care._  
_The man's breath hitched as he remembered the circumstances on which they had last used it; the look on Alfred's face...he shuddered. Never again. _

"_Major," Alfred said "I need you to keep the object." The man blinked, too stunned to answer. Was Alfred __**insane**__? That thing was given to the aide and as far as he knew he wasn't his aide anymore. Alfred was crazy. That had to be it, it was the only reason the object would be left to him permanently. He couldn't allow this._

"_Al, we both know that isn't allow-"_

"_I cleared it with the boss. It's yours until you die. After that we'll take it back." _

_The man stared dumbfounded at the young adult in front of him. He opened his mouth to argue but then realized from the tone of Alfred's voice there probably wasn't much argument left. Narrowing his eyes the elderly man's jaw twitched. "Why Alfred? Why am I keeping it?" he demanded "Are you too scared of your own history?" _

_Alfred's desperate azure eyes met his own. " Major you know my past...please." His voice went hoarse, eyes almost begging. His breathing seemed shaky as he tensed up. "Please Major_

_The man's shoulders slumped as he took in the state of the man before him...the Cold War really hadn't kept him very stable...he sighed, realizing this would have keep the kid from losing it. "All right Alfred, I'll keep it." Alfred relaxed and gave a small but relieved smile to the older man. "That __doesn't mean you can forget about your past though," he stated tersely "After all, 'Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.' We both know that, don't we?" _

_Alfred nodded in agreement though the corners of his mouth were still slightly upturned. His face seemed lighter, perhaps now that that his burden was gone it would be easier to move into the new century. To think that after thirty incredible years it was finally here... he hoped the new era would treat his retirement with kindness. He wondered how it would change Alfred considering how young and impressionable the kid was. Glancing at Alfred he couldn't help but grin wildly, this kid would keep his crazy spunk, that's for sure. "Thanks Al." he said chided "For everything." It was time to say goodbye, once and for all._

_Standing tall, straight, and proud, Alfred faced the man. "Major Grant M. Wilkerson, you are hereby officially relieved of your duties. I thank you for your work." He finished by saluting the man._

_Grant Wilkerson nodded, standing erect. "Sergeant Alfred F. Jones, you're welcome. It's been nice serving you...America." Alfred F. Jones, otherwise known as The United States of America, smiled at the formal use of his name. As he watched his former aide leave, it occurred to him that he would have to find a new aide. His stomach uncomfortably churned with the thought. He had been with Grant for thirty turbulent years and all throughout he had stuck it through...even through the worst of situations. Would he be able to find a new aide like that? He sighed, he was probably over thinking it anyways. Suddenly Grant turned around, breaking his train of thought. _

"_Hey Al?" Grant asked. _

"_Yeah Major?" Alfred replied _

"_Keep in touch, kiddo" _

_Alfred grinned, he'd find a new aide alright, but they could never be like Grant, not even close. "Don't worry Major, I will."_


	2. Chapter 1

"Cheer up Jason, I'm sure you'll have fun!" Jason Wilkerson scowled at his father's comment. _Fun_was the last idea on his mind when he was told that he would be spending his summer at his grandfather's house. Most teens his age would be partying on the beach or traveling abroad, but not him. He would be spending "bonding" time with an old man he hadn't met since he was seven. Wasn't that counted as pedophilia? Forcing someone who was decades younger than you to get closer than what was socially accepted was something child molesters would do, wasn't it?

Either way he was sick and tired of hearing how the old man had "fought for 'murrica' " during the Cold War. He had listened to his father for the last eight and a half hours as he droned on and on about his grandfather's overstated position fighting the communists in Vietnam. Jason's mouth thinned at his father obliviousness to his frustration; he wasn't only was he sick of the war stories he considered soldiers to be stupid.

Suddenly the heavily forested land thinned out as the car turned into the gated driveway an old-fashioned house. The building was bordered by trees around the unpaved road (a beautiful perk to living in the rural areas of North Carolina) and it was a quaint looking three story building with eight solemn-looking windows to each of floors with the exception of the attic. Despite Jason's sour mood, he had to admit the scenery was beautiful, and coupled with the bright sunshine and clear skies it was just breathtaking...not that a cool guy like him would say anything of course.

Sighing rather audibly, Jason trudged towards his grandfather's house, large suitcase in hand. Knocking on the large door, he heard the engine of his father's car quickly pulling away. Jason's grandfather opened up the door, welcoming his sixteen year-old grandson. He had steel gray hair peppered with the snow white that often came with age. The wrinkles and age spots on his face seemed to contrast sharply with his clear coal eyes; eyes that always held more than they would tell. Jason watched as the old man's stare quickly wandered over to the driveway in hopes of seeing Jason's father. Unable to locate his son, his grandfather's shoulders slumped,  
disappointed by the false hope of forgiveness. Not surprising considering the animosity between his father and grandfather. His grandpa, Grant Wilkerson, turned towards him smiling in anticipation; anticipation which would always spell bad for him.

"Well Jason, m'boy!" Grant said, "I haven't seen ya since you was a kid!" Jason winced at the thick southern twang, he found it was rather embarrassing that people in his family actually spoke like that.

Returning with a weak smile, he replied "Yeah Grandpa, and I haven't seen you..." Grant's smile slightly tightened, slightly reminding Jason that the reason he hadn't visited with his grandfather was because of the bitter relationship between him and his father. Despite the constant barrage of Grant's war stories that his father loved to tell, Grant's secret life had created a deep wedge between father and son.

The awkward silence hung rather thickly in the air, stretching out to what seemed like eternity. The tension was broken as Grant decided to lead the teenager up to his room, amiably chatting about his past life as a government aide.

"So, there we were, me and Alfred, hands on our holsters, sitting right across them Soviets who were doing the exact same thing!" Grant droned. Jason had stopped listening, instead choosing to focus on the house itself. He wasn't all into interior designing but he could tell the place was very well furnished and looked incredibly expensive, if a little too expensive really. If his father was to be trusted, this house was paid for by the government, as a final luxury to one of their more secretive agents. As they walked up the long flight of stairs, Jason trailed his hand on the polished banister, admiring the careful woodwork.

"Right Jason?" Jason jumped at hearing his name. Embarrassed, ears turning red, he turned to face his grandfather.

"Er, I didn't exactly catch you there grandpa." He mumbled.

Grant sighed and shook his head, "Nev'r mind son, just get your stuff unpacked," sighing once more he added "We'll just go fishing later."

Jason felt himself frowning deeply. Fishing? Who would want to stay in a wet, bacteria filled pond trying to catch an aquamarine animal with a stick and string? Who would do that, seriously? Pushing the thought back he forced a small smile towards his grandfather. "M'kay grandpa," he said "Sure can't wait..."

One of Grant's eyebrows shot up showing his disbelief, he hadn't expected his grandson to actually want come. Smiling he nodded, "I'll have to go get some stuff for the trip," Grant said "It'll take me a couple o' hours but'll be right back."

Jason watched his grandfather walk down the stairs. Turning back to his room, he groaned deeply. A month. That was how long he had to endure his grandfather's idiotic antics and stupid war stories. Lying down on the sky blue bed he buried his head underneath the thick pillows. Eight hours of driving had left him completely spent. Yawning he closed his heavy eyes. He would unpack his bags later, right now he could finally catch up on his sleep...

* * *

Jason cracked opened his sleep encrusted eyes. Stifling a yawn, he looked outside the dark window. Wait, dark? Looking in panic outside the window he noticed the shady daytime trees has morphed into dark twisting shadows.

Rubbing his eyes he stumbled down the stars. He had probably slept through their planned fishing trip. It might've not mattered to him but he really didn't want to depress the old man.

"Grandpa! Grandpa! I'm awake!" Silence met Jason's words, the large house slightly echoing his words. A dark feeling crept up into his chest hard and heavy as he repeated himself. "Grandpa? Are you there?" Silence. Unable to locate his grandfather and stuck in a large house in the middle of the woods, Jason started to feel frantic. Fumbling across the room he searched for light switch wondering where his grandfather had gone.

Jason honestly shouldn't have been worried considering his grandfather was a war veteran and ex-government agent. But nonetheless Grant Wilkerson was an old man and wasn't as fit as he used to be. For all Jason knew he could be in a ditch somewhere laying in a pool of his own blood...no...he was probably over reacting anyways. How bad could it possibly be?

* * *

"Yeah Mattie, I'm just going to see an old friend, that's all." Leaning on the table Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be careful." Smiling he shook his head Matthew could be such a worrywart sometimes. " Sheesh Matt, your more of an old man than Arthur, my economy might be bad but that doesn't mean I can't take care of myself." The was a small pause as he listened, "Yeah, you to bro."

Shutting the phone, Alfred walked towards the door, grabbing his coffee and burger on the way out. He had planned on meeting up with his old aide before swinging by the world meeting in Charlotte. It had been a long time since he had seen Grant. He had been meaning to talk to him sometime during 2001 but considering 9-11 and the Financial Crisis...he had gotten a little side tracked. But now that things seemed to be patching up and getting better, it seemed like a good idea to check up on his former war buddy and body guard (not that he really needed one.)

Turning into a narrow road, Alfred crumpled his burger wrapper as he searched for the old large mansion in the shroud of thick white mulberry trees. Spotting the scenic house, Alfred turned into the driveway and climbed out of the car. Grinning wildly, he prepared to greet his friend as he knocked on the door loudly. He was met with no response. Alfred knocked again, this time with more urgency. The door remained closed. Turning the door knob, he watched the door swing open effortlessly welcoming him into a home that didn't seem to have its resident. A disturbing feeling wormed its way into his gut; Grant **never** left his door open. After Vietnam and the Cold War...it just didn't happen. Something wasn't right here...and it looked like it was up to the hero to find out what.

* * *

Jason was nearly berserk. He had searched through every room in the house, furiously digging through his grandfather's furniture and clothes. He was stubbornly clinging onto the pathetic hope that the old man had just gone senile and was hiding somewhere like some crazy sociopath man child. Every time he finished searching a room without finding any trace of Grant his panic only worsened. He knew his grandfather had told him his supply trip would take a few hours but Jason was sure that at this time of the night, a sixty-one year old man should be back by now. Eventually, he had only one more room to check– the attic.

Grabbing an emergency flashlight from the kitchen cupboard, Jason trudged up the stairs towards the dusty and dark attic, occasionally swatting away a cobweb. Swinging his flashlight around, he searched through the messy room for any clues of his grandfather. The stuffy place was filled with relics from Grant's government shrouded past. Piles of pictures, artifacts, and even old guns littered the floor. Walking through the mess, Jason's curiosity got the better of him. Brushing away a bit of the clutter he knelt down to examine some of the pictures. In one photo, it pictured a small toddler in the hands of a younger looking Grant, the caption underneath read: LUKE AND ME. Luke was his father's first name, it was a bit surprising that after their strained relationship with each other he still kept it.

Picking up another photo, he noticed it must have been a military picture. It showed a group of men together in military uniforms, smiling broadly. The caption listed the names of the soldiers from top to bottom and left to right. Locating his grandfather he not only spotted the strangeness of his grandfather's then naive eyes but he also noticed the people standing beside him. To his right was a dark-haired man with a quirky smile and a cool look, similar to the stare of present-day Grant. The young man to his left was a completely different story. He had lighter hair and bright eyes which were rimmed by wire frame glasses. A single cowlick popped up from his hair which seemed to strangely go well with his broad grin. According to the captions they were Lieutenant Rogers and Sergeant Jones.

Putting down the photo, Jason reached for another particular object. It was a plain brown box held with frayed twine. It really didn't seem like much until you noticed the massive slasher looking "X" on the top. Tucking the flashlight under his arm, Jason fumbled with the twine before undoing the knot. Gently removing the top, he blew off any clinging and persistent dust.

It was only a rock. The object was a dull black rock with a few jagged edges and some odd looking scuff and scratch marks. It wasn't anything special or memorable at all, at least to Jason. It didn't seem to have any notes that came with it and it sure wouldn't help him find his grandfather. Holding the flashlight to the rock he tried to observe anything that made it deserve to go into such a particular box. Nothing.

Suddenly, Jason heard a loud clattering sound. Swinging his flashlight towards the noise, he froze. Slightly trembling, he looked into a face that should have been wizened and wrinkled. A face that didn't belong here but instead forty years back in time. The face stared back at him with equal shock and slight horror in his eyes . The blue eyes fell upon the rock he was holding and paled.

"Put it down." His voice was hoarse, strained even but Jason couldn't move. Jason Wilkerson was staring at the teenaged face of Sergeant Jones.


	3. Chapter 2

"Please place the stone down." The young boy continued to stare at Alfred as he tried to slowly inch his way towards him. Alfred had no idea who the kid was and wasn't sure he if he was supposed to be here. His instinct told him that this was one of his citizens and that he was very scared but beyond that a nation's senses didn't go very far.

_It was the most terrifying thing thing that could be used against a nation...the Memoria Anima; latin for Memory Soul. Since even before the time of the Roman Empire, the stone had been used to store some of a nation's darkest thoughts, mindsets, and periods. No living nation was sure where it came from, not even China. The only thing fully known about the Memoria was that it could animate memories best left forgotten._

Alfred held his breath, viciously hoping the kid wasn't some double agent sent by Iran or any other nation for that matter. His eyes were locked onto the black stone held in the boys grasp. It was the  
object he had entrusted to Grant all these years.

_It was so powerful that it was only meant to be given to the strongest empire of the time and even then, the Roman Empire himself couldn't approach it, choosing instead to give it to a very close human friend. Centuries later, the tradition had continued with each empire and superpower giving it to a human companion they only trusted with their life. _

"W-w-who are you?" Jason was terrified. Not scared, not fearful, but downright terrified. He was a kid of basic logic and what he was seeing right now was not logical at all. He stared at the man who he was sure to be Sergeant Jones trying to find some difference, _any difference,_ to the black and white photo. Jones's face looked the same except instead of a Hollywood-style megawatt grin, it was replaced by a strained face adorned with a grim line for a mouth and intense glare. Just like in the photo a single cowlick stood atop a crop of mousey blonde hair marking him to be the very same young man who served in Vietnam with his grandfather. What didn't make sense was how he could have the very same face as well.

"_Calm down," _Jason thought, "_It's probably just his son or something. No need to overreact." _Nevertheless, Jason couldn't ignore the gnawing, heavy feeling in his gut. This was probably, no it was Sergeant Jones and he knew it. Closing his eyes he screamed inside his thoughts for the man to disappear back to wherever he came from. As he listened to the approaching footsteps his breath hitched and his fingers reflexively tightened around the stone.

_It was difficult, sometimes outright painful facing the full implications of one's past and America wasn't any different. After Grant Wilkerson had become his aide he was naturally tasked with holding the stone. When he had chosen to retire, America had asked the elderly man to hold the stone in his keepsake for the rest of his life, promising to redeem it and transfer it at the end of his life. Like his boss at the time, Grant had been skeptical, knowing fully well the consequences hiding the Memoria tended to have on a nation. _

"_Run man, run!"_ He wanted to get up and get the heck out of there but something about the man's presence seemed to hold him down. Jason didn't know why. If not for the fact that the man's face belonged decades in the past, he wasn't sure why he would be feeling so much fear.

His emotions seemed to twist his insides as the footsteps became louder. He knew fully well that he should drop the stone and run. Instead his body chose to squeeze his eyelids tighter. Please go away. "_Please go away. Please, please go away"! _Suddenly the footsteps stopped almost as if it had been guided by his wishes. Perhaps the whole thing had been his imagination after all. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief he felt his shoulders relax and slump down...only to jerk back up again when he felt a strong grip encase his hand that held the stone. His eyes hesitantly fluttered open only to be greeted with the sight of the now up close, stern Sergeant Jones.

_The memories usually started to fade into the background once that generation died out and the nation, unable to recall the last time something dangerous and dark had happened, would go on to repeat it once more. It created the human cycle of bloodshed, an everlasting abyss of suffering._

Alfred clasped the boy's hand, carefully as not to break it. As he felt his fingers wrap around the black stone; the ever dreaded Memoria, a painful jolt of energy shot up his arm. Alfred clenched his teeth, stubbornly ignoring the pain. Fixing a hard stare on the kid, he answered his earlier question. "Kid, name's Alfred F. Jones, now tell me what's yours."

The kid's face paled as his eyes widened. "J-j-jason," he stuttered "J-jason W-wilkerson." Alfred noticed the kid had started shaking. Alfred's eyes blinked in shock. Wilkerson? This kid was related to Grant? Last time Alfred had checked, Grant's only kid was named Luke. Where did Jason come from?

_Even though now and days things like the internet made it much harder to forget, it still happened all too effortlessly. And well...when it did happen the Memoria would be used...and it was never pretty. It honestly didn't help matters that it was impossible for a nation to get close to the Memoria, it was like the stone could sense the presence of a nation and the dark memories were drawn to their respective countries. _

"Say, kid, you don't happen to know- Argh!" Alfred jumped back, clutching his arm in pain. Another wave of pain erupted from the stone, this time much worse than before. It was a hot flash that seemed to tear off his arm. It burned and left his fingers tingling, hand already starting to feel numb.

Jason, knocked back by the force, tripped over the clutter, and slammed sideways into an old chest. His flashlight went flying away along with the black stone...which was now no longer black.

Looking up from his throbbing arm, Alfred saw the dark attic was bathed in soft blue, pulsing light. Its source came from the Memoria at the other end of the attic. It now looked completely different than before. Its surface was now crystalline and reflective, delicate and rare rather than hard and useless. As the light grew brighter, a ghostly, light mist started to form around it. Like the light, it was a shade of sky blue and curled its way around and out of the attic. The mist made its way in front of Alfred, collecting itself into a miniature but thick fog. It grew and rippled, curling and twisting itself into a humanoid looking shape.

_Each memory was different, a new phase in history. A country's personality was completely changed due to the effects of war, their economy and their people. Unfortunately the Memoria had a way of toying with them, changing the environment and surroundings to bitterly taunt a nation with their unbearable pasts. It was forcing them to reckon with something that could destroy their sanity and ultimately their people; themselves. _

Alfred's stomach sank as he watched the unnatural phenomenon unfold. "_This wasn't supposed to happen" _he thought "_It wasn't. __**It can't.**_" The smoke then started to solidify and change color. Wisps of smoke morphed into blonde hair, a thick sphere of mist condensed into a face. A wire rimmed glasses face. A blue eyed face. A face all too familiar. His face. Alfred was staring at a disturbingly exact clone of himself.


End file.
